Annette’s son was born several hours later. With difficulty and skill Madame Leclerc had managed to turn him, but still he was taking his time to arrive and the mother was getting weaker. Agathe sat beside her, holding her hand as Madame Leclerc encouraged her to bear down and push. At last, with a groan from his mother, the baby’s head emerged and with one further push he slithered into the arms of the waiting midwife. Swiftly she cut the cord that was twisted round his neck and gathered him into a towel. She took one look at him and turned away, keeping her back to the mother, who now lay, eyes closed, exhausted on the bed. He was small, too small, and his skin was pale and blotchy and he made no sound. She rubbed him gently in the towel, wiping his face, clearing mucus from around his nose and mouth, but he remained unmoving in her hands. She turned him over and gave him a sharp slap across his tiny bottom, but still there was nothing, no catch of breath, no cry and gulp of air. She had seen this once before, when the baby, a girl that time, had never drawn breath. She felt for a pulse, holding the baby against her face in search of a heartbeat, but there was none.

Chapter 16

Hélène lay in bed, her eyes wide open in the darkness. She had left her curtains slightly apart so that she could see the full moon hanging in the sky – the moon under which she had walked with Rupert Chalfont. She had no wish to go to sleep; she didn’t feel in the least tired, and she didn’t want the day to end. Clarice’s wedding day, the day when she, Hélène, had first seen Rupert Chalfont, looking up at her as she stood on the stairs. He was different from every other man she had known. Handsome, charming, well-bred, yes, indeed, but as she’d been growing up she’d known plenty of men who were all of those things, but they were nothing like Rupert. She had no idea what made him different, all she was certain of was that he was.

After their return to the pavilion, they had parted company, Hélène to tell her mother of her encounter with Madame Sauze in the hall, Rupert to join with a group of men gathered at the far end. Louis Barrineau introduced him to Simon Barnier, another neighbour. Simon made a polite bow but soon drifted away, uninterested in a stray Englishman with whom he had nothing in common.

‘Had his eye on young Clarice,’ Louis Barrineau murmured, ‘until our Lucas cut him out. Still, if he’s looking for a pretty girl with a decent portion, there’s always her sister!’

‘Miss Hélène?’ Rupert kept his tone one of casual interest. ‘I was introduced to her earlier by your wife, sir.’

‘Well, between you and me I wouldn’t be surprised if they made a match of it. She and Barnier have known each other from childhood, of course, and it would be a good bargain. She would marry into a distinguished local family and he would have a much-needed injection of cash.’ Louis glanced up at Rupert. ‘All the St Clair girls bring a sizeable dowry, you know. Comes from their maternal grandmother, theirs entirely on the day they get married.’ As if suddenly recognising the freedom with which he was mentioning his neighbours’ financial affairs to a relatively unknown young Englishman, he tapped the side of his nose and said, ‘Nothing said, you know. Common knowledge, of course, but it’s not discussed. Lucas gave that no consideration when he proposed to Clarice. Head over ears in love with her, he is, and I’m not surprised, eh?’ Obviously feeling that the wine had led his tongue astray, Monsieur Barrineau changed the subject and continued, ‘Very good of you to look after my mother earlier, sir. Very thoughtful. Much appreciated.’